


Huge Fatass Feeds His Skinny Boyfriend

by zuotian



Category: South Park
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fluff, Food Issues, M/M, Mentions of Anarcho-Capitalism, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, feederism, now illustrated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-10-14 18:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20605646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/pseuds/zuotian
Summary: Cartman forces Kenny to face his problems with food. A philosophical debate on personal needs and an unrequited blowjob ensues. The incident is so intellectually stimulating it kickstarts a new chapter in both of their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FANFICTION—EVEN THOSE BASED ON A REAL SHOW—ARE ENTIRELY GRATUITOUS. ALL CANONICAL DIALOGUE IS IMPERSONATED ... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFICTION CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.

He and Cartman were seniors when it first happened, if Kenny remembered correctly. They had to be, because that was the year robot automation swept through South Park’s Amazon distribution center. His dad lost his job, resulting in an even stricter family budget which did not account for much food beyond a paltry dinner at the end of a hungry day. 

From then on it seemed that Kenny was back to the old habits he’d entertained when he was a little kid, always searching for food wherever he went. But he was older now with a stronger sense of pride, never took what was offered to him nor stole what he saw. There’d be no more handouts accepted from the school’s food pantry or candy bars filched from the corner store. Kenny would just have to suffer starvation with dignity - and suffer he did, until becoming undignified. 

The incident in question took place at Cartman’s house on a Friday night. With Kyle away at a debate tournament and Stan playing football at Greeley, it was just the two of them out of their group left in town. Having nothing to do at home, Kenny walked all the way to Cartman’s and knocked on his front door. 

Cartman answered the door unamused and slightly ruffled, wearing a t-shirt and lazy pants; which meant Liane was probably “working” downtown, allowing Cartman to commandeer the living room for the next twenty-four hours.

“I’m bored,” Kenny said in lieu of a greeting. “Wanna hang out?” 

“Don’t you know how to text?” Cartman asked. “A heads up would’ve been nice.” 

“I couldn’t,” Kenny said. “I used up my monthly limit already.” 

“Your minutes get tracked too? I didn’t know phone companies still _ did _ that.” 

Kenny shrugged. “Are you busy?” 

Cartman turned around without a word, implicitly bidding Kenny to follow him inside. 

The house had gotten a bit of a facelift after Liane’s most recent “promotion.” Cartman plopped onto their new couch, propped his feet on the walnut coffee table, and stuck his hand into a bag of Cheesy Poofs at his side. “I’m just watching TV,” he said. 

An old rerun of _ Terrance and Phillip _blared, but Kenny could only focus on the Cheesy Poofs’ scent that assailed his nose and sent his stomach panging with hunger. His body suddenly remembered how low his blood sugar was. His vision blacked out for a second and he stumbled into the coffee table. 

“Jesus Christ!” Cartman yanked his legs to the floor and glared at Kenny disapprovingly. “Watch it, dude!” 

“Sorry,” Kenny mumbled. He staggered around the table and collapsed next to Cartman, sunk into the couch cushions. “I’m tired.” 

“You look more than tired,” Cartman said. “You look like shit.” 

Kenny scrubbed the sand out of his eyes. He didn’t come over just to get verbally abused, but that was to be expected whenever one voluntarily signed up for Cartman’s presence, so he didn’t protest. Plus it was true. “Yeah,” he said. 

Kenny knew he looked like crap. His eyes were bloodshot, heavy-lidded, burdened by dark circles. The water in his house got cut off, so his long hair was greasy as shit, gathering in gross clumps at the nape of his neck. He wore a standard issue PE t-shirt from junior high which _still _hung off his bony torso, a testament to his lack of growth throughout adolescence, and his jeans were pockmarked with ratty holes. All around, he was a complete mess. 

Cartman observed his bedraggled countenance, chomping on a mouthful of Cheesy Poofs. 

“You smell,” Cartman commented, looking back at the TV screen. “Your water’s out again?” 

“Yeah,” Kenny said. Terrance and Phillip swam before his eyes in a glowy halo. “It sucks.” 

“Take a shower here,” Cartman offered. But he never offered anything to anybody, so it was more of a direct order. “At least so I don’t have to deal with your stench.” 

“I might,” Kenny assented. 

“You totally will,” Cartman said. 

“I don’t have any clothes,” Kenny said. 

“Wear mine,” Cartman proposed. 

Kenny snorted. He glanced down at his lap and started scratching his fingers. “They won’t fit.” 

“Sure they will. Borrow a t-shirt or something; it’ll be like a nightgown.” 

“Are you admitting you’re a fatass?” Kenny asked. 

“I’m admitting you’re a scrawny piece of shit,” Cartman said. He slapped Kenny’s hands, transferring cheese residue to Kenny’s skin. “Stop doing that, man. It’s gross. What’re you nervous about?”

Kenny flexed his hands. His cuticles were torn to scabby bits; another instance of habitual regression. “I’m not nervous.” 

Cartman turned, scowling, but Kenny knew this was his way of doting. No matter how much he hated Liane, he couldn’t have grown up with a woman like that without taking on some of her motherly tendencies. “When was the last time you ate?” he asked, flatly.

“Uhh…” Kenny calculated the time. “Yesterday, maybe.” 

“You have no idea,” Cartman stated. 

“I ate yesterday,” Kenny promised. “Really.” 

“What’d you eat?” 

“A very nutritious meal.”

“Bullshit,” Cartman snapped. “Don’t fuck with me, Kenny. You’re anorexic.” 

“I’d have to _ choose _ not to eat to be anorexic,” Kenny explained. “Which I don’t.” 

“You give your food to your sister all the time,” Cartman said. “Don’t lie.” 

Kenny ducked his head again and picked at his thumbnail. “How d’you know that?” 

“I just do,” Cartman said. “It’d be just like you to do something like that, you messianic asshole. I gotta call Kyle, let the Jews know the real Jesus popped up - it’s you.” His fat fingers wormed between Kenny’s, prohibiting anymore cuticle abuse. “_ Stop _ that.” 

Kenny liked the way Cartman’s hand dwarfed his own. Everything about Cartman was big and warm, whereas Kenny was cold and small. He leaned his head on Cartman’s soft shoulder. “Okay.” 

Cartman scowled. “Don’t fall asleep on me, for Christ’s sake. 

Kenny grunted. 

Cartman sighed. “If you really wanna, at least go take a shower first.”

Kenny groaned into the fabric of Cartman’s shirt. “Do I _ have _ to?” 

“Yes! My house, my rules.” 

Kenny got up from the couch, stretched his arms. He ignored the chill that cloyed the sliver of exposed skin above his pubic bone now that he was bereft of the human furnace also known as Eric Cartman. “”Fine,” he said, dropping his arms, “but I’m gonna use all your hot water.”

“Knock yourself out,” Cartman said. He put his feet back on the coffee table, forcing Kenny to step over them on his way to the stairs. “Grab whatever clothes you want from my room. And use my mom’s shampoo instead of mine, okay?” 

Cartman had become vain with age, to make up for his weight. Even if he was a fatass, he was a well-groomed fatass. His shampoo was made of fancy stuff that smelled divine. Kenny knew this because he smelled Cartman’s hair on occasion because they were often in close proximity because...whatever. 

“Sure,” Kenny lied. 

He trundled upstairs, popped into Cartman’s bedroom and opened the closet. Random childhood paraphernalia poured onto the carpet. Once upon a time they worried Stan was a hoarder but now it was Cartman, who refused any form of nostalgia despite the physical evidence. Kenny tossed an XXL Broncos hoodie over his shoulder and halfheartedly attempted to kick all the toys, costumes, and outdated gaming systems back into the closet, then went to the bathroom.

True to his word, he stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. His skin was hot pink by the time he stepped out into a huge cloud of steam. He pulled on Cartman’s hoodie, which nearly fell to his _ knees _, and chose not to redon his dirty socks and underwear; the thought of hanging around Cartman three-fourths naked made him excited in a manner he didn’t want to stop to identify. Leaving his old clothes in a pile on the tiled floor, he returned downstairs.

Goosebumps prickled across his skin at the change in temperature. His stomach rumbled. Feed me, it beckoned, and you’ll warm up! Kenny ignored his stomach’s demands, swinging around the staircase banister with a theatrical spin. “I’m back,” he announced, “fresh as a daisy.” 

“Cool,” Cartman’s voice echoed from deeper inside the house. “Gimme a second.” 

Kenny paused, tried locating Cartman’s position, then belatedly noticed the absolute smorgasbord of food spread across the coffee table. Frozen pizza, popcorn, Hot Pockets, soft pretzels, a survey of potato chips... Kenny’s stomach screeched at the sight, and he quickly rubbed it through the fleece of Cartman’s hoodie like he could make it quiet down. 

Cartman emerged from the kitchen soon thereafter with a two liter jug of Double Dew. 

“What the fuck is this?” Kenny asked. 

“It’s for you,” Cartman said. He sat on the couch and patted the spot next to him. 

Kenny didn’t move. “_ Just _ for me?” he asked. 

“I already ate,” Cartman said. 

“I can’t believe you’d just watch somebody eat all your food,” Kenny said. 

“I’m not just gonna _ watch _,” Cartman said. 

Kenny stiffened. “What?” 

“Don’t worry about it, Kenny. Sit down.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Cartman pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just come here.”

“No,” Kenny said. “I’m not letting you treat me like a charity case.” 

“You aren’t gonna _ let _ me do anything,” Cartman said. He stood up, rounded the table, and grasped Kenny’s thin wrist. “What I’m _ gonna _ do is feed you, whether you like it or not.” 

“No you won’t,” Kenny said. He ineffectually pulled at Cartman’s fist. “Let go of me!” 

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Cartman said. 

“What about - what about my sister?” Kenny asked. “How the hell am I supposed to eat all this without Karen?” 

“She’ll be fine,” Cartman said, “you saw to that. Worry about yourself for a change.” 

Kenny scowled. “Why are you so nice all the sudden?” 

Cartman laughed. “Oh, I’m not trying to be _ nice _.” He yanked Kenny forward, wrapped his other arm around Kenny’s waist, and forced him onto the couch. “Stay.” 

“I’m not a dog,” Kenny grumbled as Cartman sat beside him. He couldn’t help staring at the food laid out before him. It all looked so...good and hot and fat and filling. Kind of like the person next to him. Kenny didn’t know which of the two was making him salivate. He licked his lips and tried putting on a pissed-off face. “Cartman, I don’t want all this.”

Cartman palmed Kenny’s clothed thigh. It might’ve been a comforting move if he wasn’t so rough about it. “I don’t give a shit what you want. Don’t you listen to The Rolling Stones? You gotta get what you need.” 

“I don’t need _ this _ ,” Kenny stressed. “I don’t need _ you _.” 

“I beg to differ,” Cartman snapped. “Whose house are you in? Whose clothes are you wearing?” He leant forward and sniffed Kenny’s hair. “Whose _ shampoo _ did you use when I told you not to?” 

“Fuck you,” Kenny retorted. “I can leave, you know.” 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Cartman said. He placed a meaty arm atop Kenny’s scrawny shoulders, effectively anchoring Kenny to his side. 

Kenny sagged under the weight. “_ Eric _,” he began. 

“Shut up,” Cartman ordered. He picked up a slice of pepperoni pizza and held it to Kenny’s lips. “Open your mouth.” 

Kenny kept his mouth firmly shut and shook his head. 

“Are you seriously trying to piss me off?” Cartman asked. “Because I’m getting pissed off.” 

Kenny suspected that if he didn’t cooperate he’d end up covered in pizza sauce and crumbs, pinned to the couch against his will. He really didn’t want that, especially after showering.

His lips parted. 

“Wider,” Cartman said. 

Kenny scoffed, widened his jaw, and even stuck out his tongue. “Ahhh,” he intoned.

Cartman shoved half the slice of pizza into his mouth. Kenny choked, teeth snapping around the food on instinct as he gagged. His hands whipped up to catch what he hadn’t bitten off, but Cartman dutifully held onto the excess pizza. 

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Cartman warned him. 

Kenny chewed, brushed his mouth with the back of his hand after he’d swallowed. “Jesus Christ, Cartman.” 

Cartman waved the rest of the pizza slice. “Finish up.” 

Kenny’s nostrils flared. He couldn’t deny the fact that getting bossed around and manhandled was kind of turning him on - especially with Cartman so close, _ especially _ sitting naked under Cartman’s hoodie. He let his mouth loll open. Cartman gave him the rest of the pizza slice, which he chewed obediently. 

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” Cartman asked. 

Kenny swallowed. The pizza settled comfortably inside of him. He placed a hand over his stomach, closed his eyes to revel in the sensation. Why had food become so _ erotic _for him? Probably ever since he was deprived of it, he thought. But in reality he knew it wasn’t the food at all, just the person feeding him. Which was even more fucked up. 

“Feels good, right?” Cartman asked. “There’s more where that came from.” 

Kenny opened his eyes. “I don’t know, man…” Having all this food was going to make him go crazy. Having Cartman _ feed _ him was going to make him go crazy. He wasn’t getting out of this without blowing a load, and the prospect terrified him. “Maybe you should help me.” 

“Nope,” Cartman said, his lips popping on the end of the syllable. He picked up another slice of pizza. “One bite at a time, dude.” 

Kenny eyed the pizza fearfully, but his stomach grumbled and his dick twitched, betraying his inner wants - those of survival as well as sexual gratification. 

“I know you want it,” Cartman said. 

A blush crossed Kenny’s face. He couldn’t argue that, and he couldn’t think of anything witty to say in response. He wondered if Cartman knew what was really going on right now. Cartman wasn’t an _ idiot _. There had to be some double motive. And if Cartman already knew, and if Cartman was the one who instigated all of this - was there really any shame in Kenny indulging in it? 

Wordlessly, he opened his mouth. 

Cartman guided the pizza past his lips with much less force than previously. Kenny ate the entire slice right off his hand without needing to be told. He almost wanted to lick Cartman’s fingers when he was done, but held back and licked his lips instead. When he looked up, he found Cartman staring at him with a weird expression - partly awed, partly predatory, partly insane. 

Cartman wiped a bit of sauce off the side of Kenny’s mouth with his thumb. “Wanna watch a movie?” he asked. 

Kenny nodded. “Yeah.” 

Cartman pulled up some random B-list horror flick off Netflix. Kenny had lived through too many real-life horrors to be bothered by anything fictitious, and Cartman openly enjoyed such gory violence due to his dark predilections. This was one of the many things which set them apart from Stan and Kyle, who’d rather watch gay BBC documentaries.

Kenny found that having something to watch was surprisingly advantageous. Cartman kept feeding Kenny pizza, and Kenny kept eating it. Cartman quit trying to be a jerk about it. Kenny quit trying to resist. They fell into an easy flow.

Kenny forgot what it was like to eat a lot. It was almost like being high. He kept a hand on his stomach to feel the gratifying weight from the outside, opened his mouth whenever Cartman’s hand obscured the television screen. 

One of the token hot chicks got her head blown off twenty minutes into the movie. “Called it,” Kenny said. The activation of his vocal chords released air trapped in his esophagus, and he burped. 

Cartman smiled. “Nice.” 

Kenny grinned back, waiting for Cartman to foist another slice. He frowned when the pizza did not materialize.

“You ate the whole thing,” Cartman told him before he could ask. 

“Shit…” Kenny glanced at the empty circle of cardboard on the coffee table. He ate an _ entire _pizza. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d accomplished that, if ever. All the pizzas he’d had before were split between him and his siblings or friends. 

He realized how full he was, how sated. Another burp warbled out of his throat. “Goddamn,” he muttered. “I’m full.” 

“Don’t tap out _ now _,” Cartman said. “You got all the rest of this to finish, too.” 

Kenny’s eyebrows rose. “All of it?” 

“All of it,” Cartman said. 

Kenny fell back into the couch, Cartman’s arm still resting over his shoulders. His stomach squelched around all the pizza. “I dunno,” he said. “I’m not used to eating this much…” 

Cartman pulled the bowl of popcorn into his lap. “How about popcorn? For the movie.” 

Kenny straightened. “Sure. For the movie,” he conceded; they turned their attention back to the TV. 

Crumbs collected on the front of Kenny’s borrowed hoodie as Cartman fed him handfuls of popcorn. He started feeling drowsy once the bowl was half-empty, all the butter and salt turning his mouth tacky and gross. 

“I’m thirsty,” he said. 

Cartman handed him the two liter of Double Dew. “Here ya go.” 

Kenny unscrewed the cap. He didn’t waste any time waiting for the soda to stop fizzing and swallowed a few large gulps. The carbonation bubbled down his throat, into his stomach, and - wow, adding liquid to the solids there really changed the game. 

Kenny passed the two liter back to Cartman. After unsuccessfully stiflying another burp he tried to recollect his breath and assuage the acid reflux climbing up his throat. The soda audibly churned the food inside of him, broke it down, blew up his already laboring belly. 

Kenny’s eyebrows pinched. He placed both hands over his stomach. “Ow,” he huffed. “Cartman - it _ hurts _.” 

“This is really, like, fucking you up,” Cartman said.

Kenny glanced at Cartman’s crotch, where a wet spot had formed over the tent in his sweatpants. “Damn. You too…”

He reached over, intending to hook his fingers behind the hem of Cartman’s sweats, but Cartman grabbed his wrist. 

“No,” Cartman said. “No - not yet - “ 

“Sorry!” Kenny snatched his hand away. “Sorry - I didn’t mean - “ 

“You’re fine,” Cartman said. He rubbed Kenny’s arm. “Just - just wait, okay? Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” 

Kenny nodded. “Okay.” He bit his lip, hesitated. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Cartman jolted so fast the popcorn fell off his lap and spilled all over the carpet. “You aren’t _ what _?” 

Kenny spoke with more tact. “My dick’s out.”

“Jesus Christ.” Cartman looked away to compose himself, his face burning red. “Jesus Christ, Kenny. Why the hell not?” 

“I thought it’d be funny,” Kenny said, then kicked himself in the ass. “Actually - that’s a lie. I thought it’d be sexy.” 

“Is anything about this sexy to you?” Cartman asked. 

Kenny shrugged. “Kind of. What about _ you _? This was your idea.” 

“It was an act of serendipity, I guess,” Cartman said. “You’re welcome.”

Kenny’s stomach announced its discomfort again. Kenny winced. “It’d be a little sexier if it didn’t hurt so much.”

“You’re such a pussy,” Cartman insulted. “One pizza and a little popcorn and you’re already complaining.” 

“I don’t have experience gorging myself like you do,” Kenny said.

“You’re lucky I’m such an expert then.”

“If you’re such an expert, help me out a little.” 

Cartman played with the edge of the hoodie laying across Kenny’s lap. “It’ll feel better if you take this off.” 

Kenny stared at him. His own willingness to flash his dick at anybody garnered him a bit of a reputation, but he’d never heard of Cartman being intimate with anyone. “What’s gotten into you, dude?” 

“Just say yes or no,” Cartman said.

“Yeah, man,” Kenny said. “Go for it.” 

Cartman didn’t move.

“But you don’t have to,” Kenny said. “I won’t feel bad.” 

“Sit up,” Cartman said. “Sit _ up _,” he repeated when Kenny didn’t comply. “Lift your arms.” 

Cartman pulled the hoodie off of him.

Kenny shivered, his naked body exposed to the air, to _ Cartman _. It wasn’t a pretty thing to behold by any means, he knew; he was all skinny and freckly, covered in scars retained from countless deaths, like a ledger book dedicated to his own mortality. That had never given him pause before, but - put on display like this, in front of his best friend… He couldn’t help feeling nervous. 

“So...,” he began.

“Shhhh!” 

Kenny shut up. Cartman’s hands fluttered around like he wasn’t sure where to put them. His eyes zeroed in on Kenny’s burgeoning erection, then traveled towards his stomach. 

Kenny looked down too. His flushed belly curved outward below his ribcage. Cartman encased the newfound paunch with two big hands.

Kenny preened at the contact. “Cartman…” 

“C’mere,” Cartman muttered. 

Kenny allowed himself to be pulled into Cartman’s lap. He pressed his back into Cartman’s pillowy chest and sprawled his legs across Cartman’s hefty thighs. It was like sitting in an animate armchair, except there was a penis poking the cleft of his ass. 

“We gotta move, okay?” Cartman said. 

“Okay,” Kenny said. “Whatever.” 

Cartman maneuvered them down onto the floor and pulled the coffee table closer so that their legs laid underneath. Kenny measured the distance between his stomach at the edge of the table, wondered if there’d come a point where the two met.

His hips made a little jump at the thought, causing Cartman to curse. “Fucking - _ fuck _, Kenny. I always knew you were a slut, but - Jesus.” 

“I can leave, if it’s a problem,” Kenny said. 

“No way.” Cartman brought his hands back to Kenny’s stomach, began rubbing tiny circles into the warm flesh, warding off developing cramps with his touch. 

Kenny sank down into Cartman’s hold. “Y’know...maybe you’re the _ real _ slut for setting this up.” 

“Food’s getting cold,” Cartman said in lieu of a reply. “You should polish off these Hot Pockets before they get nasty.” 

“That’s just _ more _ pizza,” Kenny grumbled, “but, like, in a burrito.” 

“That’s the point.”

Kenny gave up any pretenses of watching the movie and started drifting off into an unknown headspace. The Hot Pockets got a little messy, mostly because he was stuck in a dazed food coma. Cartman fed him with one hand as the other rubbed his belly. 

Initially, Kenny tried taking huge bites just to get it over with, but ended up gagging on all the food stuck in his throat. Cartman passed him the Double Dew; Kenny sucked the soda down until a third of the bottle was gone, just to force the mass lodged in his throat into his stomach. 

“Feels like there’s fireworks down here,” Cartman said. “You really oughta slow down.” 

Kenny released the soda bottle, hiccuped. His stomach jostled and acid exploded on the back of his teeth. “I’m never eating Hot Pockets again,” he moaned. “This sucks.” 

“There’s only one left,” Cartman said, and removed his hands to grab the final Hot Pocket. 

“No,” Kenny whined. “Don’t stop.” 

“Don’t stop what?” 

“Don’t stop rubbing me,” Kenny said. What was the point of shame anymore? “I can feed myself, alright?” 

“If you say so,” Cartman said, returning to his work. 

Kenny tore through the last Hot Pocket, but there was still two bags of chips plus a collection of soft pretzels. And, knowing his sadistic slant, Cartman probably had a surprise desert waiting. Kenny wondered if Cartman came up with this on the fly, or if he’d been thinking about it for awhile, planning it, but another painful hiccup forced him out of his thoughts. He started chewing on a soft pretzel, hoping the bread would absorb some of the soda inside of him. 

Cartman’s steadily erection hardened at his back. Kenny swiveled his hips, just to hear Cartman squeal. “Hope you didn’t wanna fuck me tonight,” he said around a mouthful of pretzel. If that happened, he was sure he’d either fart or shit or puke all over Cartman’s dick. 

Cartman blanked out for a moment, then said, “I didn’t - I didn’t really consider it.” 

Kenny looked up at him. “Seriously?” 

“Didn’t think I’d get this far,” Cartman admitted. 

“Well.” Kenny finished his first pretzel and tackled a second. “I’m not gonna fuck you, either.” 

Cartman practically had a seizure at that. “But you - you _ could _, right?”

So Cartman wanted to get fucked, Kenny thought. He sure as hell needed it. “Maybe I’ll blow you later, if I’m not dead by then.”

Cartman fell silent as Kenny worked on the second then third and final pretzel, no doubt fantasizing about getting his ass reamed. 

Kenny had an okay cock - not too big and not too small. He was a proponent of function over form, didn’t think it mattered what anyone packed as long as they handled it well. He hadn’t seen it in awhile, but guessed that Cartman’s dick was still inexorably small. That was okay, though, because his fists were huge. There was always a trade-off, Kenny thought, some sort of alternative solution.

He was way too worked up thinking about Cartman fisting his ass, so he distracted himself by opening a bag of plain chips and stuffed his face. He was in the last leg of the race and just wanted this to be over with. The chips weren’t anything like the pizza or Hot Pockets - airy and light, he could eat a fistful at a time, and they sank into his stomach comfortably enough. 

Halfway through the bag, he had to take another soda break, which spawned more hiccups that wouldn’t abate. Each jolt sent his stomach reeling, amplified his pain. His stomach had grown with a mix of carbonated gas and way too much food. It was now halfway to the edge of the coffee table and no longer had any give to it, transformed into a durable hardness that wouldn’t budge.

“Cartman,” he said, succumbing back into whiny irritation. “Do something.” 

“You need to lay down,” Cartman advised, “stretch out.” 

Kenny promptly extended across the carpet. “Okay.” 

“Not like _ that _,” Cartman said. “Let’s go to my room.” 

Kenny doubted he could stand, let alone walk up a flight of stairs. “Can you - _ hic _\- carry me?” 

“I gotta get all the food!” 

“Help me up, at least,” Kenny snapped. 

Cartman stood, gripped Kenny’s hands, and pulled him to his feet. Kenny stumbled forward, caught himself on Cartman’s elbows, and adjusted to his newfound weight. Considering his initial size the growth of his stomach looked more obvious than it really was. He tenderly cupped the throbbing mass and shook his head clear. “Okay.” 

“You good?” Cartman asked. 

“I’m good.” 

Cartman grabbed the chips and soda. “Go ahead of me.” 

Kenny waddled upstairs. It was a slow process. By the time he made it to the hall he wanted to stop and rest, but Cartman prodded him forward, the bedroom only a few feet away. Kenny slugged onward, pushed Cartman’s door open with his shoulder, and collapsed on the bed, belly up. 

“Nggh - _ hic! _ Fuck,” he grimaced. “This isn’t helping.” 

Cartman set the food aside and started rearranging the bed, stuffing pillows under Kenny’s back. “You gotta elevate, or else everything goes upside down.” 

The pillows offered some relief, but Kenny continued hiccuping. “I can’t - _ hic _ \- eat like this.” 

Cartman handed him the Double Dew. “Take another drink.” 

Kenny sat up against the pillows. By now the soda just tasted like some vague syrupy sweetness. His taste buds were probably in shock. The liquid sloshed inside of his belly, but he continued drinking, the two liter crinkling in his hands. 

“Okay, Kenny,” Cartman hedged.

Kenny ignored him, finished off the entire bottle, and tossed it to the floor. It felt like there was a nuclear bomb going off in his stomach, but at least the hiccups were gone. “Done,” he said, and held out a hand. “Gimme - _ hrrp _ \- the rest of those chips.” 

Cartman did as told. “You’re getting better at this.”

“What’d you expect?” Kenny asked. “That I’d pussy out and cry all over your cock?” 

“Uh,” Cartman said. 

“Fuck you, man,” Kenny said. “Fuck you for making me do this. Fuck you for thinking I _ couldn’t _ do it.” He craned his neck back and tipped the chips into his open maw. 

“I hereby stand corrected,” Cartman relented. “You win, Kenny. For the first time in your sorry life.” 

Kenny crumpled the empty bag in his fist. Cartman passed him the last bag. They were barbecue flavored; Kenny dug in with abandon. “You ever suck a dick before?” he asked. 

Cartman froze, gobsmacked by the question. “Uh - no.” 

“Well, you’re gonna suck mine off when this is over,” Kenny said. “Because I win.” 

“Damn it!” Cartman glared at the floor. “I shouldn’t have told you that.” 

Kenny stretched his foot into Cartman’s tented lap, wiggled his toes. “Don’t act like you don’t want to…”

Cartman shoved his leg away. “Lay off, dude!” 

Kenny laughed. Crumbs sprayed out of his mouth. “What, I can’t acknowledge your giant boner? After _ you _ wanted to see me naked?” 

“That was only because you’re such an _ exhibitionist _.”

“I’m gonna exhibit my cock in your mouth here real soon,” Kenny said. 

“I’m not gay,” Cartman vowed. 

If that was his only argument Kenny knew it wasn’t true, but he’d rather not engage in another debate over Cartman’s sexuality. “Either way, you’re still into this, right?” 

“Into what?” 

“Seeing me get fat,” Kenny said. He flicked at chip at Cartman’s chest. “What’re you getting outta this, anyway?” 

“Nothing but your fucking sass,” Cartman snapped. He brushed the chip off his shirt. “I thought it’d calm you down, maybe.” 

“All this is doing is turning me on,” Kenny admitted. “It feels nice, though.” 

Cartman looked up. “Really?”

“You’re such a slob,” Kenny told him. “I was always kind of jealous of you for it. I always wondered what it’d be like to take what you want and not give a fuck.” 

“It’s pretty sweet,” Cartman said. “Your problem is you’re too nice, Kenny.” 

“I’m not nice at all,” Kenny said. 

“I don’t mean nice like Butters,” Cartman clarified. “I mean your whole Jesus schtick. Your hero complex. Nobody survives by sacrificing their needs all the time. You’re just gonna kill yourself if you keep that up.” 

This conversation was nearing deep waters Kenny didn’t prefer to explore. He set the bag of chips aside and faced Cartman fully. “What else am I supposed to do, man? If shit needs taken care of I’m not going to _ not _ take care of it. You don’t know half the stuff I’ve had to do.”

“Is it bad stuff?” Cartman asked. His gaze alighted with an excited glint. “Did you murder somebody?” 

“No,” Kenny sighed. “It’s stuff you can’t even comprehend.” 

“Tell me about it,” Cartman said. 

“I don’t want to,” Kenny said. “You wouldn’t get it. You can’t wrap your dumb head around it. I’m serious, Cartman. Drop it.” 

“Well, whatever it is, you can ignore it every now and then.” 

“And do what?” Kenny asked. “Get drunk off my ass like Stan does?” 

“No.” Cartman crawled over Kenny, braced himself on his hands and knees. “Come see me.” 

Kenny laid supine underneath Cartman’s hefty frame, yet his expression was one of distrust. “And?”

“I’ll feed you,” Cartman said. “Teach you how not give a fuck.” 

“But what’s in it for _ you _?” 

“The clout,” Cartman said. “You’re like a coyote with rabies, dude. All mangy. But look at you now. How many people can break in a _ coyote _?” 

“I’m not broke in,” Kenny denied.

Cartman placed a palm over his stomach. “You look pretty broke in to me.” 

Kenny’s breath hitched, puffing a few strands of hair away from his face. “And I can take whatever I want? No matter what?” 

“Sure,” Cartman said. “That’s your God-given right from the United States of America. That’s the beauty of capitalism, Kenny. You never understood that because you’re poor.” 

“I don’t want you doing this cause you feel sorry for me,” Kenny told him. 

“I’ve never felt sorry for anybody,” Cartman promised. “I’m not doing this for _ you _. I’m doing this for me.” 

“Why?” Kenny asked. 

“You needed to be reminded of my authority,” Cartman said. “You’re falling off track. Somebody’s gotta pull you back. And I’m the only one who can do it.” 

“I’m not gonna be your little bitch, if that’s what you’re going for,” Kenny said. 

Cartman laughed. “I don’t want a bitch. If I wanted a bitch I’d call up Butters. I just want you, Kenny. I want you right where I can see ya - chilling out, for once. I get exhausted just looking at you sometimes. This is for my benefit as much as it is yours, since I’m the one who has to deal with you all the time.” 

“You don’t have to deal with me all the time,” Kenny said. “You’re making it sound like we’re dating. You wanna be boyfriends, Cartman?” he jeered. 

“Fuck you, dude,” Cartman said. “This isn’t about that and you know it. This is a logistical situation.” 

“You can logistically eat my ass,” Kenny said. “I’m not gonna let you bait and trap me.” 

“Hey, now.” Cartman leaned back on his haunches. “Who said I’m baiting you? Who says you’re trapped? Did I ever force you to do anything?” 

“You _ force _ fed me,” Kenny snapped. 

“And you could’ve spit pizza in my face and left,” Cartman said, “but you didn’t.”

Kenny crossed his arms. “Yeah,” he said.

“I don’t want to control you,” Cartman said. “There’s no fun in that. I’m just giving you permission to let loose. Like, I’m putting cheese down to watch you run around the maze. But the maze isn’t really there. The maze is in your head.” 

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about anymore.” 

“I’m cultivating an environment conducive to your own personal indulgence,” Cartman simplified. “You think it’d be easy. But not with you.”

“I don’t need anything,” Kenny said. “I don’t want anything. I’m fine with nothing.” 

“Then why are you still here?” Cartman asked. 

Kenny huffed. He passed a hand through his damp hair. “I hadn’t ate since two days ago,” he confessed. “I skipped dinner last night and today. It’s not like they save my plate - it just goes to somebody else. Which is the point.”

“So you go without,” Cartman said. 

“Yeah. I left before my mom started cooking. But I wasn’t expecting to have a feast when I got here,” Kenny said. “I couldn’t just turn it down - not when you sprung it on me like that. I was unprepared. My defenses were down. I didn’t _ want _it, though.” 

“Why not?” 

Kenny shrugged. He pulled his legs up to his chest. His stomach pressed into his thighs, evidence of his hypocritical surrender to Cartman’s bountiful offerings. “It’s easier to not want anything at all than to want what you can’t have.” 

“Okay, Socrates,” Cartman said. 

Kenny narrowed his eyes. “I’m serious.” 

“I know,” Cartman said. “Lighten up.”

Kenny dropped his legs and palmed his stomach, which had relaxed during the brief, conversational respite from consumption. “Is it bad that I feel bad about this? Like, guilty?” 

“Only cause that’s supid,” Cartman said. “Quit being a dumb bitch. Stop overthinking this. You’re just eating _ food _.” 

“Everything’s a bigger deal than you think it is, Cartman,” Kenny said. 

“It really isn’t,” Cartman countered. “I’m telling you it’s not.” He gestured around them. “Is the sky falling? Did your dick blow up? Is your _ sister _ here telling you she hates you? The world isn’t going to end if you stop trying to carry all its burdens.” 

Cartman had absolutely no idea how false his last claim was, but Kenny had no way of communicating this without invalidating his entire framework of reality. “The fact that you’ve survived this long with that mindset just means you’ve been able to bail out of every shitty situation of your life,” he said instead.

“If I’ve bailed out on anything it’s only because I bailed the system completely,” Cartman said. “I’m offgrid from society itself.” 

“That’s not a good thing.” 

“Sure it is. Why the hell do I gotta put up with anybody if they’re all a bunch of jagoff dickbags?” 

“_ You’re _ a jagoff dickbag,” Kenny accused. 

“Everyone’s a jagoff dickbag. That’s why you don’t have to do anything for anyone.” 

“Why do anything for _ me _, then?” Kenny asked. “Why’re you trying to help me out now?” 

“Because I’m trying to teach you a lesson,” Cartman said. “Because once you’re able to transcend your self-righteous dicktugging we’ll finally be equals.” 

“And what happens then?” Kenny asked. 

“I dunno. We’ll get married and live in the woods or something.” 

Kenny snorted. “You’re crazy, man. Your whole point is that we’ll go be gay in the woods?” 

Cartman’s lip curled. “We won’t be _ gay _ . I don’t like dudes. I don’t like chicks for that matter, either. I hate pretty much every human being alive besides you. _ That’s _ my point. You’re the only person I know worth a damn, so it matters to me that you educate yourself on the nature of reality.” 

“Which is?” 

“I’ve only said it about a thousand times,” Cartman sighed. “Everything’s pointless. Nothing matters. It’s all a load of shit. So just do whatever the hell you want and don’t worry about anyone else. If you gotta work backwards and do whatever you want _ first _, then maybe you’ll figure the rest out as you go.” 

“Jesus Christ, Eric. I’m too fucked up to handle this _ philosophical debate _ right now, man. Can’t you blow me already?” 

“Lemme grab some ice cream, first,” Cartman said, rising from the bed. 

“I can’t eat ice cream,” Kenny said. “I can’t eat anything else. I’ll puke. It won’t fit. My stomach’s the size of a walnut.”

“Your dick is the size of a roll of pepperoni,” Cartman said. “If you wanna know how my mouth fits around that, you’ll surrender yourself to my perfect wisdom a little longer.” He slapped Kenny’s cheek with an uncharacteristic amount of tenderness. “The ice cream’ll cool you down. It’ll make your tummy feel better. Let Daddy get ya some ice cream.” 

“I’m not calling you Daddy,” Kenny said. “I already have one, unlike you.” 

“We’ll see,” Cartman said. “We’ll see.” 

Kenny followed the noise of Cartman’s retreating footsteps. Once they subsided, he rolled off the bed and padded naked across the hall into the bathroom. 

All the bullshit Cartman had fed him - literally and rhetorically - made Kenny existential. He splashed water on his face and examined his reflection in the medicine cabinet. Water dripped off the ball of his angular nose. His uncombed and tangled hair had dried incordantly, and the circles under his eyes persisted. But a ruddy liveliness colored his cheeks. 

The food had done him some good. Kenny felt warm from the inside out for the first time in forever. Cartman’s anarcho-capitalist claims were impossible to confirm, but the physical applications of his philosophy couldn’t be denied. And, for all the intellectual backflips he’d just endured, his overall mood was still sleepily content. 

So maybe he had a masochistic streak. Maybe he ignored his own problems by trying to retroactively solve those of all his loved ones. Maybe he needed to chill out and stop worrying so much and start doing things for himself despite any possible consequences. There were too many unknown variables for his liking, but he should’ve realized the first time he came back to life that no one ever really knows how anything works at all. Perhaps Cartman was right: you could only focus on your own needs and fuck the rest. 

What Kenny needed to do right now was take a piss. But he didn’t want to disrupt the gluttonous equilibrium in his stomach, so he trudged back into the bedroom and slipped under the blankets just in time for Cartman’s return. 

“I got the good stuff,” Cartman said, wielding a tub of ice cream and two spoons. “It’s rocky road.” 

“Cool,” Kenny said. “Hurry up. I’m tired.” 

“You’re not pissed at me, are you?” Cartman asked. He nudged Kenny aside and laid next to him on top of the blankets, placing the ice cream between them.

“No,” Kenny said. “I’m just losing the mental capacity for your bullshit. I’m too full to think straight.” 

“Good. Because you shouldn’t be pissed. Everything I said was right. I told you, I’m a genius.” 

“Sure you are,” Kenny said. He picked up one spoon and stared at the other. “You’re jumping in on this one?” 

“Thought you deserved a little help,” Cartman said. He popped the ice cream lid off and set it on the end table. “Else we’ll be here all night.”

“Jeeze, thanks.” 

“For real, though, you’re doing a good job. You really packed it in, being anorexic and everything.” 

“I’m not anorexic,” Kenny denied, ignoring how Cartman’s praise affected his heart and his dick. He scooped a huge chunk of ice cream to prove his point. It slid smooth down his sore throat, and the cold cooled his stomach and cleared his head, just like had Cartman predicted. “This _ is _ good.” 

“It’s top shelf,” Cartman informed. “Ben and Jerry’s.” 

“You shoulda got those little swirly cups with the paper lids,” Kenny told him. “That’s the best ice cream ever and I don’t care what anyone says. I could eat fifty of those.” 

Cartman lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t give me any ideas.” 

“Oh, I got plenty of ideas.” Kenny waved his spoon around his temple. “They’re all coming to me now. If you wanna get real crazy we need to go to City Wok and get the buffet. You’ll have to carry me out in a wheelbarrow.” 

“You’d pig out in the public eye?” Cartman asked. 

Kenny shrugged and spooned another helping of ice cream. “Maybe if you were there with me.” 

“Sounds too much like a date,” Cartman said. “Are you saying you wanna go on a date with me, Kenny?” 

“Are _ you _ saying you want me to want to go on a date with you?” Kenny parroted back. 

“Shut up and eat,” Cartman ordered. 

Kenny smirked around his spoon. 

Contrary to his offer of assistance, Cartman refrained from eating anything, mostly because Kenny dug into the ice cream with a renewed gumption. A good third of it was gone when he got hit with his first brain freeze. He rolled onto his stomach and shoved his forehead into a pillow, which psychosomatically killed the brain freeze but brought his stomach ache back to life. Cartman played with the ends of his hair and discussed more radical economic policies. Kenny replied with affirmative grunts, not really paying attention. Eventually he turned on his side and pulled the ice cream to his chest but didn’t immediately dive back in.

“Your stomach hurting again?” Cartman asked. 

“I just need a second,” Kenny muttured. 

“Here,” Cartman troved a glob of ice cream and held it to Kenny’s lips, “let Daddy help.” 

“Stop calling yourself that,” Kenny said. “It’s weird.” 

“I’ll stop if you take a bite.” 

Kenny rolled his eyes and parted his lips. Cartman placed the spoon in his mouth. Kenny swallowed the ice cream, then dragged his tongue across the bottom of the spoon as Cartman pulled it out. 

Cartman’s pupils blew up. Wordlessly, he scooped more ice cream, and Kenny performed the same trick, but this time he grasped Cartman’s fist and moaned erotically. 

“Fuck,” Cartman breathed. “Kenny - holy shit.” 

Kenny smacked his lips. “We could make money offa this,” he grinned. “Post it online: ‘Huge fatass feeds his skinny boyfriend.’ We’d get a million views.” 

“Nobody’s ever gonna see you like this besides me,” Cartman said. He readied another bite of ice cream. “Open up.” 

“Think about the economics. We’d be self-employed. Porn’s a competitive market or whatever. People can pay us in bitcoin - _ mmmph!” _

Cartman forced the spoon into his mouth. “I won’t let you whore yourself out for a buck like my mother,” Cartman declared. “I’ll cut out my kidney and give you the profits if it ever comes to that.” 

Kenny spat out the spoon and wiped drool off the corner of his mouth. “You wouldn’t be able to _ find _ your kidney under all that flab.” 

“Then I’ll cut off my dick and sell it to a female transvestite,” Cartman said. “Quit talking stupid crap and eat, for God’s sake.” 

Cartman fed him at a merciless pace, the ice cream melted to a more palatable temperature. Kenny’s stomach resumed its staggering growth, reigniting with pain. He framed the distended flesh with his palms, felt its rise and fall with every labored swallow and strained breath. The ice cream gave him a bit of a sugar rush, but with all the other food in his stomach and hormones rattling in his brain he just felt sick and gross. 

Cartman upended another bite into his mouth. Kenny clamped his teeth over the spoon, let it sit on his tongue, unable to swallow, his eyes half-lidded. “Cartman,” he mumbled, drool and ice cream dribbling out the corner of his mouth, “I don’t - _ hggh _\- I dunno if I can take anymore.” 

“You’re almost done,” Cartman encouraged, and held Kenny’s jaw as he gulped the ice cream. 

His throat hit maximum capacity. Kenny slapped his hands over his mouth and gagged. He screwed his eyes shut and forced everything down his esophagus, which was compacted with backed up dessert, into his stomach with a sickening lurch. 

He removed his shaking hands from his mouth, carelessly spat an acidic loogie into Cartman’s bedsheets, and lolled his head against the pillow. Surrendering to his fate, he opened his mouth automatically. 

Cartman proceeded to give Kenny more time in between each torturous bite. Sweat broke out over Kenny’s face, neck, and shoulders as angry cramps lanced through his stomach. His lower back started to hurt. Heartburn spread through his chest. And all the while his dick bobbed between his spread thighs, shoved out by his enlarged stomach. He was either going to die or have the best orgasm of his life, he thought, experiencing a weird blend of sickly horniness he’d never known existed. 

“There’s only a little bit left,” Cartman said. He had to scrape the bottom of the ice cream tub to get the last couple spoonfuls. Kenny ingested them dutifully, working on autopilot. Then Cartman threw both spoons into the emptied container and set it on his end table. “That’s it,” he announced. 

Kenny blinked dazedly. “Huh?” 

“You’re done,” Cartman said. “Congratulations.” 

Kenny glanced down at his massive, red, pulsating stomach. In total, he’d eaten a whole frozen pizza, half a bowl of popcorn, Hot Pockets, soft pretzels, a two liter of Double Dew, and an entire tub of ice cream. Never before had he consumed so much in one sitting. He’d be proud if he wasn’t so sick and fucked up. “Cool,” he said. 

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” Cartman commented. 

“I feel like I’m gonna _ die _,” Kenny groaned. He dropped his head against Cartman’s shoulder. 

Cartman wrapped a protective arm over Kenny’s stomach. “I really didn’t think you had it in you,” he said. “You pulled through, dude.” 

“Anything to prove you wrong,” Kenny mumbled. 

Cartman paused. “Are you, you know, still up for the - the grand finale?” 

Kenny snorted at the fact that Cartman was still so timid about a simple blowjob after orchestrating a sadistic session of sinful gluttony. That seemed to be how he dealt with everything, though. Nothing fazed him besides that which was commonplace. Maybe having such a skewed worldview came with being offgrid.

“Yeah,” Kenny replied. “Lemme relax for a second.” 

“Okay,” Cartman said. “Sure. Cool.” 

Kenny peered up at him. “Are you nervous?” 

“I told you, I’ve never sucked a dick before.”

“It’s not that hard,” Kenny told him. “You’ll be fine.” 

“What if I’m not, though?” Cartman asked. 

“Don’t be so gay about it,” Kenny chided. 

“I’m not gay,” Cartman said for the upteenth time. “It’s just - after that, you deserve a good blowjob.” 

Kenny patted the arm on top of his stomach. “Cartman, I don’t care if it’s good or bad. If it gets you on your knees, with your mouth around my dick, that’s all I care about.” 

“Uhhh,” Cartman intoned. “Alright.” 

Kenny smirked. “If you wanted to blow me, you coulda just asked instead of going through all this trouble.” 

“But it was worth it, right?” Cartman asked. “You liked it.” 

“I guess,” Kenny said. He then rectified his statement. “I mean, yeah. I liked it a lot.” 

“So I _ was _ right,” Cartman said. “About everything.” 

“You were right about everything,” Kenny said, only half-joking.

“Because I’m the only person who can see through your crap,” Cartman said. 

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “You are.” And Kenny was the only person who could see that projecting his own methods of gratification was the only way Cartman knew how to show that he cared. He wouldn’t say it, though. Cartman was too insecure to hear something like that. It was best to let him believe he had the upper hand. 

“How’re you feeling?” Cartman asked after a brief lapse of silence. 

Kenny laughed. “How d’you _ think _? I feel like shit, man.” But, considering the situation, it was a good kind of shitty. “I’ll be fine.”

Cartman retracted his arm and sat up. “Ready for the worst blowjob of your life?” 

“Bring it on,” Kenny said. 

Cartman climbed off the bed. “Okay. Just gotta get a couple things in order.” 

“I’ll be here,” Kenny said needlessly. He probably wouldn’t leave this spot until Sunday, or until he took a gigantic crap to end all craps; whichever came first. 

Cartman left to discard of the ice cream tub and spoons, then came back and fiddled around the bedroom. Kenny shut his eyes, half-asleep. When he opened them again a few minutes later Cartman was sitting at his desk in his t-shirt and boxers, sweatpants tossed to the floor. Kenny noticed Spotify was opened up on the computer screen. Old-timey soul music began drifting through the speakers. 

“Black people made the best music for sex,” Cartman said after he got up from his desk and saw Kenny’s confused look. “Everybody knows that.” He stood beside the bed, hands on his hips. “How are we doing this?” 

Kenny sat up against the headboard with minor difficulty and spread his legs. “C’mere.” 

Cartman’s face turned red. The mattress creaked as he knelt between Kenny’s legs. “Now what?” 

Kenny sighed. He reached down and stroked himself. “Start off with this,” he instructed. “Then do whatever you want.” He released his dick and folded his hands behind his head. “I’m waiting.” 

Cartman grasped Kenny’s dick. His soft, big hand nearly dwarfed the entire shaft. “Like this?” 

Kenny’s hips bucked at the contact. He grabbed his stomach to contain the contents therein. “Y-yeah,” he stammered. “Go up and down a little.” 

Cartman tucked his chin against his chest and worked Kenny’s dick with the same amount of focus used to destabilize a pipe bomb. He passed an experimental swipe of his thumb over Kenny’s glans. A choked whimper crawled out of Kenny’s throat as pre-cum beaded under the pad of Cartman’s thumb. 

“That’s it,” he said. “Keep going, Eric.” 

“O-okay.” 

Cartman’s wrist torqued up and down in a smooth pattern. Kenny’s dick stiffened and curved a little, bowed by his stomach’s circumference. Cartman placed his other hand atop Kenny’s stomach and pressed down, causing Kenny’s stomach to ripple under his palm as he quickened his pace on Kenny’s shaft.

Kenny yelped and covered Cartman’s hand with his own. He felt weighed down by the heavy girth of his stomach and dick, and subsumed by Cartman’s hulkish frame bent over his pelvis. 

He threaded his other hand into Cartman’s hair, gently guided his face downward. “‘M not gonna make it. You gotta hurry.” 

Cartman glanced up at him with wide eyes. “Kenny…” 

“It’s okay,” Kenny comforted. He wiggled his hips. “Don’t be a pussy.” 

Cartman swallowed. He steadied the base of Kenny’s shaft and guided the tip into his mouth at an awkward angle; the tip hit the roof of his mouth, but Kenny didn’t have the wherewithal to correct him. Eventually, Cartman got it figured out so that half of his dick slid inside.

Kenny’s legs bent automatically. His knees knocked into Cartman’s ears. “N-now do the same thing you did with your hand,” he said. 

“_ Mmmf _,” Cartman said. His eyes fell shut. He suctioned his lips around Kenny’s girth and jerkily moved his head back and forth like a pecking chicken. 

There wasn’t any rhythm to it at all but Kenny didn’t care. He was too keyed up to do anything but grip Cartman’s hair and palm his stomach, using all of his remaining mental prowess to stop himself from fucking Cartman’s face. 

Cartman grunted and moaned. His teeth dug into Kenny’s foreskin. Instead of being bothered by it, the pain helped Kenny stay focused. His hand traveled down, wrapped around the nape of Cartman’s neck, and, discarding his previous considerations, he pushed his hips up into Cartman’s face, forcing his whole dick past Cartman’s lips. Cartman choked and tried jerking away, but the hand bracing his neck and legs bracketing his shoulders impeded his escape. 

“Eat it,” Kenny commanded. 

Cartman’s hands flapped over Kenny’s hips, searching for purchase. The force of Kenny’s dick ramming his throat elicited involuntary, muffled whines. “_ Mmfg - mm - hnngg! _” 

After suffering under Cartman’s torment the whole evening, Kenny snapped at hearing Cartman make such tortured sounds. He cried out, clamped his legs around Cartman’s shoulders, forced himself as deep as he could go. He felt Cartman gag and suffocate around his cock, but didn’t let up even as he cummed. 

“_ Eat _ it,” he repeated. “That’s the deal. If I have to eat your food, you gotta eat my dick!” 

Cartman wrenched out of Kenny’s grasp, which he could’ve done the entire time. There was no way Kenny, who weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, could have actually kept him physically subdued. 

Kenny’s dick slipped out of his mouth, limp and wet. Cartman hoisted himself up on his arms and hacked and heaved, coughing up globs of cum and spit onto the bedsheets. “_ Fucking _ Christ,” he wheezed. “You coulda killed me, asshole.”

“Sorry,” Kenny said. 

“_ Eugh _.” Cartman wiped his mouth and sat up, panting. 

Kenny glanced at his obvious erection. “You okay?” 

“I gotta - I gotta take a piss,” Cartman said. He clumsily climbed off the bed. “I’ll be right back.” 

Kenny’s brow furrowed. He stretched one leg to the floor, supporting his stomach with both hands, preparing to follow. “No, dude. That’s not fair. Let me finish you off.” 

Cartman held up his hand. “Don’t. I’m serious. Leave me alone.” 

“I won’t laugh at your dick,” Kenny said. “I don’t care how small it is - “

“Shut up!” 

Cartman hastily exited the bedroom. Kenny heard him slam the bathroom door shut, followed by the click of a lock.

Kenny laid back down and sighed. If they were going to continue this - whatever it was - Cartman would have to learn a thing or two about reciprocal vulnerability. For now, Kenny let it go, not wanting to ruin his post-coital bliss. 

Cartman was busy for two whole soul ballads, returning just as a baritone vocalist crooned: _ All my body pains, only need for the good things - all the making love and breaking bread; face to face, get down with the love, most inner place… _

Kenny appraised Cartman’s guarded, flushed face. “Would you come over here?” he asked, lifting the blanket. 

Cartman reluctantly laid down. Kenny rolled into the depression Cartman’s weight left in the mattress. Cartman didn’t protest, but he wasn’t looking at Kenny, either. 

“Who is this?” Kenny asked, referring to the singer. 

“Curtis Mayfield,” Cartman replied. 

Kenny hummed. “I didn’t know you liked this type of stuff.” 

“What do you mean?” Cartman asked. “The blowjob? Feeding you? Or the music.” 

“All of it, I guess,” Kenny said. 

“Chef gave me a CD when we were kids,” Cartman said. “I listened to it every time I jerked off. There was a sexy black lady on the cover. It just stuck.” 

“Did Chef give you the idea to use food to get laid, too?” 

“Not really. But he said it helps.” 

“I guess it works better when you’re trying to smash a poor piece of shit,” Kenny said. 

Cartman turned his head. “You’re poor, Kenny, but you aren’t a piece of shit.” 

“Okay,” Kenny said. 

“I’m serious. You’re the only intelligent person I know.” 

“It’d be nice if I could touch your dick,” Kenny said. 

Cartman scoffed. “Maybe someday.” 

“What’s the deal?” Kenny asked. “Why wouldn’t you let me return the favor?” 

“There’s no favor,” Cartman said. “That was all just a scientific experiment.” 

“I have a scientific theory that your dick is the size of a Mike and Ike,” Kenny said. “I’d like to conduct an oral experiment just to make sure.”

Cartman wrestled with the blankets till he was on his side, then scooped Kenny’s back to his chest. “Stop talking.” 

Kenny grinned to himself. He guided Cartman’s arm across his stomach and proceeded to enjoy the best sleep of his life. 


	2. Illustration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO please don't hate me for this fake out update. this is not a new chapter. just wanted to remind everyone this fic is still alive, i'm just super busy!!! got the next chapter about halfway done tho. 
> 
> here is some shitty art to hold you over haha
> 
> ps i changed my username

**Author's Note:**

> vanilla (ish) style fic up next.


End file.
